


the college experience

by liionne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Slow Build, hipster!Steve, like seriously so many long sentences, long sentence abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 22:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2085984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is looking forward to college. Like "really freaking super duper excited" about college. College is going to be different from high school, everyone says so. They've had talks from current students, students that have left, and a handful of other people, lecturers and professors and tutors, and they've all said that college is so different to high school. More independent learning, new people, new sights, new responsibilities.</p><p>Steve has never been more looking forward to it in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the college experience

**Author's Note:**

> This is legit the longest fic I have ever written, and it took about four days, and I've tried to check it through for mistakes but fuck if it has I'm sorry but I just. I tried.
> 
> Also I know a lot of the info and details in here will be off, but I know shit all about college. I tried _really_ hard to research things though, so maybe it won't be so bad.

Steve is looking forward to college. Like "really freaking super duper excited" about college. College is going to be different from high school, everyone says so. They've had talks from current students, students that have left, and a handful of other people, lecturers and professors and tutors, and they've all said that college is so different to high school. More independent learning, new people, new sights, new responsibilities.

Steve has never been more looking forward to it in his life.

Of course, he's enthusiasm is kind of muted. He's still worried. He's worried that it won't be like the ideal he has in his head; he's been bullied since he can't even remember, for having glasses and then for having a hearing aid and then for being too small, for being bi, for standing up for what he believes in, all of it. He has been beaten up more times than he can count. The college kids have said that college is a fresh start and that none of that matters, that everyone's "totally chill" (Steve was pretty sure that one botany student was totally _high_ , too) and there's no cliques- not unless you join a frat, or something. But it's not silly. It's not bitchy. Not like high school, were popularity is everything, and Steve Rogers definitely was _not_ popular.

His enthusiasm is kind of dampened down by other things, too- like his mom dying. It was a blow that knocked him sideways, to say the least. She'd been a nurse since before he could remember, before he was even born, no doubt. She looked after herself, she looked after him, she was good at her job. _So_ good at her job. Steve, who was always getting beaten up or falling over or having an asthma attack could always count on his mother to do the right thing. She was good that way.

And then one shift on the infectious diseases ward took her away from him, just like that.

He's getting over it. He doesn't want to go to therapy or counseling or anything like that, and he's not going to. He knows his mom wouldn't want him to be sad, to mope about it, so he's really trying not to.

But when he sees people moving in up and down the corridor of his building, some without parents but most with parents, dads carrying suitcases and moms carrying pillows or bags of food, his stomach twists. Steve's never had a dad, died a month before he was born, and he stopped feeling sorry for himself over that a long time ago, but his mom-

Well, he has to turn away when the student opposite grouches as he's pulled into a hug by his mother, whining about how he's a "grown ass man now". It makes his chin quiver, and he'd rather die than start crying in the corridor on his very first day.

He fumbles for his key, and opens the door to his double room. The room mates were assigned randomly, because Steve has no idea if anyone from his high school moved out to Washington to go to a Liberal Arts college, and if they did, he doesn't care. It's not like any of them were his friend anyway.

There's no one in the room. In fact, he seems to be the first one in. The bed next to his (he picks the one on the right, he doesn't know why) is unmade, the walls bare, and the door was still locked. Steve shoves the key into the back pocket of his dark red skinny jeans and starts getting set up. He sets the bed in dark navy sheets, pins up a few posters on the wall, some of his favourite paintings and a few of his old drawings, stuff he's really proud of. He pins up a photo of him and his mom next to his desk, at the head of the bed. He even empties his suitcase and puts everything in the wardrobe, but still, his room mate doesn't show. Maybe he'll get a double room to himself- whilst back in high school he would have hoped so, he finds that the idea of doing that now actually scares him. The easiest way to make friends has got to be through living with someone else, right?

Steve sighs. He's unpacked completely, and he shoves the empty suitcase under the bed when he's done. Still no sign of said room mate. So he grabs his brown leather satchel, fills it with his wallet and his phone and his moleskin sketchbook, the last present he got from his mom before she died, and he heads out.

He's already been through registration and everything, so he mills around. He goes up and has a look at the studio he'll be spending most of his time in; it's nice. It's open, airy, white walls splattered with ink and paint, the bare floorboards creak underfoot, also covered in multicoloured splotches, but he loves it. He'd like a studio like this. It's kind of pretty.

He walks through into the library, checks out the canteen, even peeks in at a few lecture halls. He still has to have General Education, so he's gonna be spending more time than anticipated in there, even with a minor in History. Still, they don't look too bad. Comfortable, even.

He wants to leave school grounds, go off campus and explore, but it looks like it's going to rain, so he heads back. He doesn't mind. The place is still heaving when he gets back there, but he finds his door ajar, a guy sitting on the bed opposite his.

Steve lets himself in, and shuts the door quietly behind him. He's greeted with a smile friendlier than he's ever received, from anyone his age, at least.

"Hey," He says, and he stands. "I'm Sam."

"Steve." He nods, and he gives the guy a smile.

He doesn't know why, but he knows that he's going to like Sam.

~*~

Orientation and the first two weeks of classes pass in a blur. Steve actually makes friends, sort of. Sam's in his English Literature class, which works out well, and there's a guy called Falsworth in his Math class. Art and History are kind of lonely, but then he spends a lot of his time focusing, seeing as those are his actual chosen subjects, and not a lot of his time chatting anyway, so he's sure he'll live with that.

He decides to amble off campus one Saturday when the weather looks fine for the middle of September and he's not worrying about work or classes or anything. In his satchel he carries his actual sketchbook as well as his mom's book, because he has a project to start brainstorming and he needs to focus.

He's not sure what he's looking for, but he knows he's found it when he spots the cafe just around the corner from campus: "The Hungry Artist - Art & Coffee House".

Steve steps inside immediately.

There's soft jazz playing throughout the room, and there's a few paintings hung on the wall. There are a lot of people already in the cafe, chatting or sipping coffee or drawing, and so Steve goes to dump his stuff by a table in the corner and then goes to get himself a drink.

There's no one behind the counter when he goes up, but he finds he's waiting no less then two seconds before a guy emerges from what Steve assumes is the back of the shop, and Steve wonders if he's going to need his inhaler because this guy just took his breath away.

And actually, he'd use that as a pick up line if it wasn't so pathetic.

He's taller than Steve and he's thicker, well defined muscles outlined by a stupid clingy v-neck thing. Steve hates it. He can't see what he _wants_ to see (and he wants to see is those abs because he's got to have a pretty fine set and they've got to be showing underneath that shirt) because there's an apron in the way, but he blushes just thinking about that, so he swallows thickly and makes his order: a plain black coffee, please and thank you.

When the barista (his name tag either read Bucky or Becky, and Steve's not sure but he's also not sure that he cares) turns away to make his coffee, Steve can see his hair is pulled back into a little bun at the nape of his neck. As if he hadn't wanted to run his fingers through that hair before. He fiddles with the strap of his satchel until his cup is delivered and he can wrap his fingers around that to serve as a distraction.

"So- are you a student?"

Steve looks up; he wasn't expecting small talk. He nods. His fingers are still covered in ink from drawing, actually. He can't seem to get it off already.

"I, uh- yeah." He's embarrassed by his stammering, and he flushes. The guy behind the counter, definitely Bucky, grins back at him. "Just started this week."

"Huh." Bucky says. "Let me guess- art major?"

Steve nods again. "And history." He says. "History Minor."

Bucky's head tilts. "I'm doing a History Minor." He says. He studies Steve's face for a moment, and when Steve blushes, he grins wider. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Yeah." Steve nods. "Maybe."

He retreats to the corner, and he draws him. Not all of him, just bits of him. The bun at the nape of his neck, his shoulders, his biceps and that apron and the tattoos Steve can see, the sleeve down his left arm.

He doesn't get any work done, but whatever. He takes his empty cup back up to the counter after two hours, when it seems that the guy has left, and then he goes too, back to his room, where Sam is nowhere to be found.

~*~

Bucky is in his history lecture.

Steve doesn't actually know that, though. Not until the lecture is just about to start and Bucky slips into the seat beside him, the seat which is usually empty. Steve always sits on the end of the row but a few seats in, giving someone the opportunity to sit next to him if they would like to. It's an opportunity no one has taken, until today.

Steve looks up, bewildered, and blinks bright blue eyes at him. He would say something, but Bucky is absolutely gorgeous and Steve is just a tiny bit lost for words. Which is a miracle, actually, considering he has one of the biggest mouths going, a mouth that never used to stop even when it really should have and used to get him into more trouble than you could shake a stick at.

"You're the fella from the coffee shop, right?" He asks. "The art student?"

Steve nods dumbly. Bucky is ridiculously good looking when he's this close and not separated by a counter- he was ridiculously good looking behind said counter too, but up close Steve can get a proper look, which he tells himself is totally for aesthetic, artistic reasons. Bucky has a few small scars, probably acne scars or something, though Steve can't even imagine Bucky's skin ever having any sort of blemishes. There's a dimple in his chin, a slight curve, and he has a ridiculously strong jaw, one which Steve secretly maps out, wants to trace with his finger tip. His eyes, when Steve can finally meet them, are a deep, dark blue, the type of blue he could totally get lost in.

And he kind of does, for a moment.

"I was hoping I might see you around." He gives a crooked smile and Steve feels his heart skip. "Looks like you weren't too hard to find."

"I've always been pretty awful at hide and seek." Steve admits, and he's not sure where it comes from but he smiles anyway, a little sheepishly, and he blushes as Bucky laughs.

"We can practise together." He says. "I'm kind of a pro." Their lecturer has stood up now, switched on the projector and started the lecture, introducing today's topic. Bucky's voice is hushed when he holds a hand out to him. "Bucky Barnes."

"Steve Rogers." he returns, reaching out to give his hand a gentle shake before he turns to the front, intent on taking notes.

He can hear Bucky scribbling beside him, taking notes the entire time, shifting in his seat and writing line after line of spider-scrawl. Steve tries hard to do the same, manages to get a full page of notes, but he knows he's missed a lot. Mainly because of Bucky by his side, shifting, writing, their arms brushing every so often. He looks at Bucky out of the corner of his eyes, out of his periphery, and sees him sucking on his pen. Steve's stomach flips, and he looks hurriedly back to the front of the room, a blush staining his cheeks as he burrows down in his seat.

At the end of the hour and a half lecture, he takes a breath. He's free until after lunch now, but he's thinking about heading over to the studio to get to work on his portfolio, finish the work he began at the weekend when he couldn't start it at the cafe.

But then Bucky foils those plans in less than ten seconds.

"If you're not busy we could go and get a coffee or something?" He asks, slipping his notebook back into his bag. "Just in the cafeteria or something. If you've got time."

And when Steve looks at Bucky after packing his own stuff away, those dark blue eyes look so hopeful that Steve just can't turn him down. Not that he would turn him down anyway.

"Sure." He nods, gives Bucky a smile. "Why not?"

~*~

So yes, Steve has friends. He's got Sam, and then there's Falsworth, who's promised to introduce him to his friends Dum Dum and the gang at some point, and yet he rarely eats in the cafeteria. He doesn't do a lot of eating at all, actually. He'll have breakfast and he'll have dinner, but he tends to skip lunch. Honestly, it's no wonder he's skinny. His mother used to scold him for that all the time, for skipping lunch, but then in his head he argued that there was no point eating lunch if he was just going to have to eat it alone. And anyway, his tiny body could usually last running on just a granola bar.

It's the first time he's been in the cafeteria, but Bucky leads the way anyway, goes over to buy two coffees, both black, one with sugar and one without. He hands Steve the plainest one and leads him over to a table in the corner. Out of the corner of his eye - and Steve notes that he's done a lot of that today - he spots Sam sitting with a girl with dark brown curls and dark eyes that don't look away even when he looks over. Steve gives him a smile, and takes his seat.

"So I haven't seen you in the Artist before. Was yesterday your first time?" Bucky asks, politely, conversationally.

Steve nods. "Just walking. Wanted somewhere to start my portfolio work."

Bucky nods in turn, raises his cup to his lips and yet doesn't take a sip. "I noticed." He says, gives Steve a smile and takes a drink before he sets it back down. "You'll have to show me sometime; you looked pretty into it."

Steve blushes, for two reasons: one because Bucky noticed him drawing, and two because Bucky _noticed_ him. But he can't show Bucky his work for one main reason: everything he drew was Bucky. His hands and his hair and the vague outline of his body, even stupid little thing like his name tag. It's kind of the Steve Roger equivalent of writing "Mr. Steve Barnes" all over his diary. Or that's how he thinks of it, anyway.

When Steve looks up from his coffee Bucky is smirking like he knows something Steve doesn't, or like he's trying to hold back a laugh. Steve blushes harder, cheeks stained scarlet now, and the smirk grows. So _that's_ what it is. Steve wonders if he's being made fun of, if this whole thing is a set up, but then Bucky takes another sip of his coffee and the smirk is gone.

Steve swallows around a lump that is quickly forming in his throat, and he nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll uh- I'll have to show you sometime."

They talk for a while. For a long while, actually. Steve knows he should go and use the studio whilst it's still free but he can't wrench himself away from Bucky for long enough. Bucky is charming and he's funny and he's nice to look at, aesthetically pleasing from an artists point of view and every other point of view imaginable. And they get on like a house on fire, which suits Steve perfectly.

"I always used to draw. Didn't have a lot of friends back in Brooklyn, so I'd go out to the park, Prospect Park, and draw. Spent so much time doing it, it felt right to do it college."

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up, and Steve falters. He had gotten to feel pretty at ease with Bucky even after being here for only an hour; he felt like he'd known him almost his whole life. Or felt that comfortable around him, anyway. And when Steve gets comfortable around someone his mouth runs away from him, and once he starts talking it's hard to get him to stop, so when the thing about having no friends came out he had barreled on regardless and only now does he realise that shit, he's probably just made a massive fool of himself and presented Bucky with just how pathetic he used to be _still_ is.

He's waiting for the thing that's going to ruin it, the thing that Steve's going to say that's going to make Bucky, gorgeous, charming, and just plain _nice_ Bucky think "what the fuck am I actually doing here wasting my time with this prick?". Steve knows it's coming. It always does. He's only still friends with Sam because when he said that incredibly stupid thing (which he's not even going to actually think about because it makes him blush and makes him squirm and he's not going to do any of that in front of Bucky) Sam just laughed. And he hasn't really spoken to Falsworth enough for him to have said anything stupid yet, so that's good. Maybe he'll try keeping talking to a minimum and then they won't have a problem.

But Bucky just looks at him, surprised, and says, "You're from Brooklyn?"

Steve visibly deflates. Apparently the bit about friends has gone unheeded, and he nods, fiddles with his coffee cup, which has been empty for some time, the polystyrene going cold beneath slim fingers.

"Uh huh. Born and bred." Steve nods.

Bucky grins, and it slowly widens, wider and wider until Steve worries that his face might split. Honestly, it's a good look. One that Steve would like to draw, for sure; the way Bucky's lips stretch across his teeth, the way his eyes crinkle and light up, turning from dark blue to something more electric. Steve is really good at sketching, a lot better at that than painting, but he's not sure that any artist nor painter, no matter how good, could ever match the colour of Bucky's eyes when he smiles so brightly.

"Me too." He says, and he beams.

That launches them into a chat about Brooklyn, about the parks and the food and the people, places they each used to visit and things they used to do. Bucky talks about the bakery on 8th avenue and their cupcakes, just how great they were, how sweet the icing was, and Steve talks about the Chinese over on Ultica Avenue that has to be the best Chinese in the entire state.

They flirt a little. Steve can't be sure if he's making it up or not, but he's pretty sure Bucky's flirting with him, leaning in, saying something to make Steve blush which always has the desired effect. Maybe Steve's imagining it because he's never gotten on with someone like this before, and he knows he's crushing hard. Yeah, that's got to be it. It's all in his head.

They chat until lunch, when Bucky looks up over Steve's shoulder, and smiles.

"I gotta go." He says, and he stands. Steve stands with him; he's not sure why, but he does. Bucky must be a good four or five inches taller than him, at least, and Steve would frown about it but he just can't. Not when Bucky's smiling like that. "Got sociology. I'll see you around, yeah? You should stop by the cafe, I'll give you discount."

"Mates rates." Steve says, and he grins. "I'm definitely there. See ya, Bucky."

"See ya, Stevie." He says, and the nickname makes Steve feel warm, makes his heart melt and his stomach knot.

Right up until he goes and links arms with a petite, curvy looking red-head as he heads out of the cafeteria.

Of course Bucky has a girlfriend. Steve doesn't know why he's so surprised. She might be from his high school or maybe he just met her, that's something Steve certainly _wouldn't_ be surprised about. Bucky's like a magnet, so charming and so vibrant, drawing people to him. He's probably not even interested in guys, was just messing with Steve before, trying to wind him up. That's a guy thing to do, right? Steve wouldn't know, it's not like he's had a lot of guy friends. Or friends period.

He tries to be happy that he has a friend, at least, as he heads over to the studio. He's getting better at making friends; although it's not like he actually had a choice, it was Bucky who sat next to him, and Bucky who invited him out for coffee, and Bucky who kept him talking. Steve had absolutely no say in the matter; not that he minds.

He tells himself that everything's alright as he pulls out his sketchbook and starts to draw, but the truth is, it's really, really _not_.

~*~

Steve tells Sam all about him.

"-He's real pretty, Sam, big blue eyes that he keeps batting at me, and his hair, I just want to run my fingers through it and it looks so damn soft and it's not even just that, Sam, he's smart, he's _so_ smart, he's here on scholarship like me and I swear to god he's just the smartest guy I've ever met, and he's sweet, and he's friendly, like he's the one who asked _me_ for coffee and he's the one who sat next to _me_ , he's such a nice guy, and he's funny, too, he's real funny, and-"

Sam puts up with his rambling until Steve runs out of steam and has to huff on his inhaler to try and catch his breath again, taking deep breaths. Sam doesn't move because he knows Steve'll get mad if he tries to help him, but he watches in case he's really winded himself.

It's odd- Steve sort of has that feeling with Sam as he does with Bucky, that he's known him all his life. They know each other pretty damn well and it's only been about three weeks. He was hoping he'd make life-long friends in college and he has a good feeling that Sam's going to be one of them.

"So ask him out." Sam says, as if it's that _simple_. Steve would sell the soul of his firstborn for it to be that simple.

"I can't." Steve sighs. "He has a girlfriend."

"Oh." Sam murmurs. He considers that one for a little while. He wants to be a counselor, and Steve knows he's going to be a hell of a good one. He listens to people's shit - Steve's, Steve's shit - without batting an eyelid, nods to let you know he's listening and then he works through things with you, talks you throw them. Steve has had approximately three problems since he met Sam, but he's been great with all of them, helped him out. But this one- this one seems to have stumped him. He sighs, and then turns to look at Steve. "Then just be his friend, pal." He says. "Least you can do, right?"

"Right." Steve sighs. "You're right."

~*~

He goes to the coffee shop early the next morning. He has no actual classes until the afternoon, and he completed all of his work the day before, so he's free. The cafe is suspiciously empty when he goes in, but he assumes that's because it's 9am and most people have classes, or if they don't have classes, they're participating in extra-curricular activities, something Steve _definitely_ doesn't do. Hasn't ever, and won't ever. He's too skinny, to small, and too ill for any of that. And anyway, last time he tried to play baseball he got hit in the side of the head and his hearing aid smashed, and seeing as he can't afford to replace this one, he needs to try to keep himself safe.

He wears his glasses, because he's too lazy to put his contact lenses in when he drags himself out of bed. He actually thinks that maybe he shouldn't, maybe he should spend the extra thirty seconds putting them in before he goes because they're big and square and nerdy and he really does need a new pair and maybe Bucky will hate him a little bit for them, when coupled with the hearing aid and his tiny build and all the rest of it.

But then he's out the door and out of his building before he can even think about going back.

His plan is to draw Bucky some more, actually, because he's decided he's sort of in his love with his figure and how it moves and how it curves, all the different lines and shapes of it. He wants to map out his features and all the expressions they can make it, and the best way to do that, of course, is to watch him in his natural environment.

He goes to the counter, and for a second he thinks that no one's there, but then Bucky pops up from behind the counter, and he grins.

"Steve!" He says, and he sounds so damn happy to see him that for a moment, Steve's lot for words. But then he finds his voice again and he finds himself grinning right back at him as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. "Hey."

"Hey." Steve returns. "I came for the free coffee."

"I never said free," Bucky says, as he grabs a large mug and begins to make Steve's coffee for him. "I said discounted. But because of the misunderstanding, I guess this one'll have to be on the house."

Steve grins, and looks around the cafe. It's empty. Literally empty, just the two of them in there, it seems. Steve assumes that there's at least another member of staff in the building, though, if not a few more, he just can't see them.

He wonders if Bucky's girlfriend works here, if this is how he met her. Or maybe she was a customer, came in batting her eyelashes with a line similar to Steve's, something along the line of free coffee and mates rates and ended up in his bed.

That thought makes his stomach flip flop, makes him feel nauseous, so he tries not to think about it too hard and looks up as Bucky goes to hand him his coffee, only to find that he's actually holding two.

"I'm gonna take my break early." He says, gives Steve a smile. "Go and sit with you, seeing as it's so quiet." He must see the quiet look of horror on Steve's face (because how is he supposed to draw Bucky and stalk him from afar if he's sitting right next to him!?) and quickly backtracks. "I mean only if you want, I can go do something else, I'm supposed to be working anyway, so-"

Steve's sure he must be imagining Bucky's nervous rambling- why would a guy like him worry about what Steve Rogers wants? It just doesn't make sense.

"I don't mind." Steve says, shoulders shrugging as he wraps his hand around his satchel, the other in his pocket. "I'd like it, actually."

The admission is rather sheepish, and he actually blushes a little bit, taking himself by surprise. But Bucky beams at him, so he knows it's worth it as they go and sit in the table that is quickly becoming Steve's own personal corner.

He doesn't take his sketch book out of his bag because he knows Bucky will want to see, or he'll be inclined to show him, or something, and that thought terrifies him even more. His book does have other things in, a cat he saw crossing the courtyard one day, caught in mid-stride, a bird that landed on his windowsill and Sam's sleeping form in the bed opposite his, when he was too wide awake to sleep himself. It's actually sort of full of other things. But it's also got a good few pages of things that are solely Bucky, never him as a whole, but recognisable bits, bits that Bucky would look at, know were his, and be disgusted.

So Steve's just not going to tempt fate.

"I didn't know you wore glasses." Bucky says, as he sips his coffee. Said glasses are getting steamed up by his own drink as he lifts it to his face, but he doesn't mention it, nor does he try to take them off. He literally can't see a _thing_ without them. Not one. And if he's going to be so damn close to Bucky he _really_   wants to be able to see him whilst he does.

"They're pretty cute." Bucky adds, and Steve splutters.

When he's stopped choking long enough to think, and then form words, he takes a deep breath and swallows thickly. His fingers twitch for his inhaler, but he doesn't reach for it. He's fine.

"I usually wear contacts." He says as he blushes a bright shade of scarlet. It isn't a good response to that last comment at all but it's the only thing he can think of that doesn't involved a childish retort of " _you're_ cute" or going off topic all together.

Bucky smiles, smirks even, that same little smirk as before. "I think they suit you better." He says, and takes a sip of his coffee that Steve thinks looks smug. Definitely smug.

When he takes a sip of his coffee and actually get to swallow it this time, he looks at Bucky. He's wearing another v-neck, of all things, and an obscene pair of black skinny jeans with a chain looped across a belt loop to his pocket, all underneath his white apron covered in paint splatters, which probably has less to do with actual painting and more to do with a uniform, looking like they fit in to the "art" part of the "art and coffee house".

And as if he read his mind, Bucky asks, "Have you been upstairs?"

Steve shakes his head. "What's upstairs?"

Bucky grins. "I'll show you."

He abandons his coffee and heads out through the back of the cafe, through a small, open door. The staircase is pretty damn narrow but the wood looks new and shiny, and the walls are painted bright white. Steve follows him up there and definitely _doesn't_ look at that ass in those jeans as they go.

Upstairs is a gallery. An art gallery. And in it are a collection of paintings that are absolutely beautiful, paintings of photographs, the original image held beside them, in a small case. Steve gapes. The space is so open and so vibrant, the colour of each painting contrasting with the white of the walls. The bare floorboards creak as Steve steps inside, looking around the wide open space.

"It was a collaborative project," Bucky explains, as Steve looks around, gawps. "Between a senior painting class and a sophomore photography class. The sophomores took the photos and the seniors painted 'em. Best ones ended up in here, there was a ceremony and everything."

Steve nods as he looks, head tilting as he squints at the fine detail, the delicate brush strokes and the colour mixing evident in each one, comparing it to the original photograph. Whilst most seem to be recreations, there is one that stands out- the photo is of a couple who look way too staged, forced, in thirties or forties clothing, something from that era, as if they're mid-dance. Honestly, the photograph is terrible. It makes Steve cringe. Taken with some kind of sepia filter, it looks bad. But the painting-

The painting blows Steve's mind.

It's all in colour. The dress is bright red and her curls are golden, his skin is glowing and his suit is a bottle green colour, dull compared to the others and yet so bright. The dance looks far less forced and staged and more natural, and their smiles look like they're actually having fun and not like they've been told to say "cheese".

"Yeah," Bucky murmurs, and he's suddenly close by Steve, by his side, their arms brushing. "That's my favourite too."

Steve nods, and stares for a moment longer. He can feel Bucky's eyes on him after a minute or so, boring into him, and yet he doesn't look back. The painting is a pretty good excuse not to, it seems.

"I haven't seen any of your stuff," Bucky says, and his voice is oddly low. "But I have a feeling it'd be good enough to get up here."

Steve gives a short laugh and shakes his head, self depreciating but not cynical. He knows what he's capable off and it's nothing as good as _this_. "I'm not _nearly_ close to this kind of stuff." He murmurs.

Bucky gives him a smile when Steve does eventually look up at him, and Steve feels his chest constrict, squeezing his heart. "Let someone else be the judge of that."

~*~

Steve starts hanging around at the Hungry Artist more and more, and he manages to go in whenever Bucky has a shift, it seems. If it's quiet he'll come out and sit with him and if it's not he still tries to come over, clean his table or something just for a chat, trying to grab a sneaky peak at what he's drawing, but Steve has decided, by the end of September, that he's just not ready for that. By then, half of his sketchbook is filled with drawings of Bucky, and not just bits of him like before, a hand or an arm or his hair, but the whole of him. The entire package. His head and his shoulders, his entire body- he draws him in full. Even puts in some shading, sometimes. It's creepy, and it's obscene.

But Steve just can't stop.

Sometimes he thinks he's getting close to Bucky. They flirt, they get close to one another, and then Steve sees him with that red head who is called Natasha, apparently, and he deflates internally because he thought for a second that he had a chance with Bucky.

Bucky, good, sweet Bucky, who he talks about non-stop. It's whilst he's on the internet on his laptop on Sam's desk (because his desk is full of work, jeez), totally _not_ looking at Bucky's facebook account and _not_ cussing quietly when the "relationship" and "interested in" sections are empty, that Sam decides enough is enough.

"I gotta meet him." Sam says. "If I'm gonna have to sit and listen to you pine after him all the time, I'm going to have to meet him. And if he's going to give me free coffee- even better."

"Not free." Steve says. He's already shut the laptop and is getting his shoes on, because he'll quite happily use any excuse to get out of his dorm and into the coffee shop, into Bucky's space, and if he can may Sam pay the one dollar he's now paying for coffee then even better. "Discounted."

"Well it better apply to me." Sam says, shoving some money in his pocket and heading for the door. "Because if he's only giving half-price coffee to his love interests I've already decided I don't like him."

Steve chuckles, and steps out of the dorm behind him, locking the door. "I told you," He says, as he leads the way. "Bucky's a good guy. You'll get your discounted coffee."

~*~

But Bucky is not behind the counter.

There is actually a girl behind the counter. Well, a woman. There's no way she can be called a girl. She's petite but she's curvy, oddly feline in nature, and she has bright red hair.

Bucky's girlfriend.

Steve groans, stops dead outside the door. Sam looks genuinely concerned, because he knows how ill Steve has been in the past and how ill he can get, and Sam probably thinks he's having some kind of episode right now.

"That's her." He says, turning to look oh-so discretely through the window at her. His glasses click against the glass as he goes too far round, and if he wore them today just because Bucky sort-of kind-of didn't really but that's how Steve's going to take it said he liked them then he'll wear them for the rest of his tiny, miserable existence. "That's her, that's his girlfriend, Natasha."

Sam gives a low whistle. "She's his girlfriend? Damn. She looks..."

Steve knows how she looks. Not only is she gorgeous, but she looks like she could kick your ass and not have smudged her lipstick at the end of it.

"Yeah," Steve sighs. "I know."

"But we made it this far," Sam says, and Steve wants to say no, wants to drag him away, but it's too late. "so I guess we'll just have to go inside."

Steve groans again, but he follows him anyway. The door dings to signal their arrival and they walk up to the counter, and she looks up and over to them, casts emerald eyes at the pair of them as they walk in.

"What can I get you two gentleman?" She asks, inclines her head a little and smiles. Fuck. She's charming. Steve feels himself simultaneously hate her a little less, and a little more.

"A black coffee and a pumpkin spice latte." Sam says, and Steve rolls his eyes at Sam's choice. She rings everything into the register, and looks up first at Sam, and then at Steve, and when she looks at Steve she seems to study him, take him in, scan her eyes over his entire frame (or what she can see of it from behind the counter, anyway). It gives Steve goosebumps and he's not sure why she does it, but finds that all he can do is blush, look down, and then away.

"That'll be four seventy-five, please." She says, and Sam - Sam, the guy who everyone loves and loves everyone, the eternal flirt - leans over the counter, flashes her a grin, and says, "We're friends of Bucky Barnes."

Natasha gives closed-lip smile that looks like she might be holding back a grin, and says, "Well a friend of Barnes' is a friend of mine. That'll be three fifty."

"That's more like it." Sam grins, hands over the three dollars it cost for almost five dollars worth of coffee. They amble over to Steve's usual seat in the corner, and he sighs. He wishes he could hate her more, but she actually seems kind of friendly, and she's not bitchy, and she even gave them a discount when she could of told them where to shove it. She's a nice girl, and Bucky's a nice guy; they deserve each other.

"So your boyfriend isn't here," Sam says, and wipes a foam mustache off his top lip. Steve blushes, doesn't even have time to mutter a sheepish "he's not my boyfriend" before Sam continues. "Which is a shame- I was looking forward to meeting the elusive Bucky Barnes."

Steve's disappointed too, he's not going to lie. He doesn't just hang out with Bucky in the coffee shop, of course not. They see each other in History, where Bucky has apparently set up camp beside him, and sometimes if they're free they have lunch in the canteen together. Steve's been over to his room before, over in the Parker Building, and they've studied together. They're quickly becoming good friends.

And yet Steve's favourite environment to meet Bucky in is the coffee shop, because the coffee shop makes him feel special. Sure, in the lecture hall he chooses to sit with Steve instead of countless other students, and then he continues to take him to lunch sometimes, when he's not busy, rather than fucking off and going to sit with some real friends, but at the coffee shop, he takes time out of whatever it is he's doing and makes an effort to go and talk to Steve. And no one has ever made an effort for Steve. Ever. Not if you don't count his mom, which Steve totally doesn't, because she was obliged to.

Still, he and Sam have a good time. They laugh, they joke around, they visit the gallery upstairs and then they goof off for a little while. They order food, eventually, a chocolate chip cookie and a lemon meringue cupcake, because it's a Saturday and they don't have work to do so they might as well. They'd only be sitting around in the room anyway.

Steve is busy snorting with laughter when the door dings and Bucky steps inside, already tying long hair behind his neck in a messy bun as he goes. Sam reaches out to touch Steve's shoulder as he laughs with him, rocking slightly, and Steve is blinking back tears when he finally spots Bucky.

Bucky, who looks like he could be about to commit murder.

He's got a face like a smacked ass and he's looking directly at Steve- or rather, at Sam. Sam's hand falls away from Steve's shoulder and he goes for his coffee instead. Steve gives him a smile, but Bucky stalks away behind the counter and doesn't say a word to anyone.

He doesn't come out until a half an hour later, carrying a tray, taking cups and saucers and plates and piling them up high, far higher than Steve thinks they should be. When he gets to their table, he says very calmly (the calm before the storm, Steve's brain helpfully supplies), "Hey Steve." And then he pauses, and asks, "Who's your friend?"

Sam squirms like he detects the silent rage behind his voice. Bucky sounds calm, sure, but it's the forced kind of calm that comes from being absolutely fucking livid. Strained. He sounds strained. Steve blinks at Bucky and says, "Uh, this is my friend. Sam Wilson. Sam, this is Buck."

The familiar nickname seems to ground him somewhat, at least snap him out of whatever shit he had just gotten himself into a little bit. It doesn't soften him, but it's enough for now. "Your friend?" He asks.

Steve nods. "My room mate."

The cafe is a little quieter now, actually, just a few people sitting around, most of them sketching or reading or scribbling in some way, so when Sam speaks his voice is a little bit of a whisper, like he doesn't want to disturb anyone. "Steve's told me all about you." He says, and he holds out his hand.

In response to that, Bucky beams, his previous cloud having moved on, apparently. He shakes Sam's hand and opens his mouth to speak, but he's interrupted before he can even begin.

"Wait- this is Steve Rogers?"

Natasha appears from behind Bucky, hands on her hips, and she looks between the two of them.

"I've heard a lot about you, Rogers." She says, and her lips curl up in a crooked, smug sort of smile. Steve tries not to scowl. "Bucky never shuts up about you. I think he's got a crush."

Bucky looks absolutely mortified, like he might keel over, and Natasha looks smug. Oh so smug.

Steve stammers, says absolutely nothing intelligible and blushes. He wants to ask how the hell Bucky can have a crush on him when he's going out with her, and why, if she thinks that, she's so okay with it, but he's just not that articulate. So instead, Sam asks for him.

"But wait- aren't you two a thing?"

Natasha snorts, and Bucky shakes his head, looking a little pink around his ears.

"Me and this schmuck?" Natasha asks, and she shakes her head too. Her look when she looks at Sam is oddly appraising (Steve would say _hungry_ , but he wouldn't actually know. Not like anyone's ever looked at _him_ hungrily before) as she says, "He's really not my type. And he doesn't like girls, so-"

"Thank you, Nat." Bucky says, cuts that conversation short. He looks like he wants to kill her, or kill himself, or maybe both. All Steve can do in return is smile, like a little kid on Christmas morning. That's exactly how he feels, actually. "I think we better be getting back to actual work."

"We should be going anyway." Steve says, shouldering his satchel. "We've sat here for long enough, right Sam?"

"Right." Sam nods. He stands too, and the four of them look at each other. Or rather, Bucky looks at Steve and Steve looks at Bucky and they both look stupidly hopeful as Sam and Natasha look between the two of them. "It was nice meeting you, Bucky." Sam sees. "And I'll hopefully be seeing you around, Natasha."

"Fingers crossed." She says, as they leave the cafe and step out into the cool autumn air.

So yeah, Steve's pretty damn pleased. Can't stop smiling, in fact. Not only is Bucky single but he's also interested in guys, and may or may not (most likely _not_ , Natasha was probably just teasing, but still it gives Steve false hope so he's sticking with) have a crush on him. It's been a far better day than Steve expected, and when he gets back to their room he can do nothing but flop onto his bed, and all Sam does in response is laugh.

~*~

It's mid-October when he gets drafted into the kitchen at the cafe to help make cupcakes.

He and Bucky see each other every day. They'll see each other for class, or they'll go for lunch, or they'll go round to Bucky's place (because Bucky has a single, lucky bastard) or Steve'll go round to the cafe, do his work and chill, occasionally chatting to Bucky if and when he gets the chance. Sometimes they do all four, sometimes they do one or two. They're close. They're really close.

"Bucky?" Steve calls, as he enters the cafe. He's taken to just calling for Bucky when he goes in because he knows when his shifts are, and he knows for sure that he should be here now. It's nearing closing time, and the cafe is absolutely desolate- just the way Steve likes it. That means Bucky will join him for a coffee and even though Steve gets no sketching done he gets to look at Bucky close up, gets to study the lines and curves of his features without anyone suspecting. Or at least, he hopes no one suspects anything.

"I'm in the back!" Bucky yells, and Steve hesitates. "Come on through, you can help me."

So yeah, Steve is a little bit worried about stepping behind the counter, but he goes anyway. The kitchen is actually tiny; it's a miracle they can even fit two people in here, but then Steve supposes he's only small. He slips inside and shuts the door behind him- there's literally no room to move, just to turn. Which is maybe better, actually. Everything is within reach.

"I've gotta decorate these cupcakes," Bucky says, gesturing to the cupcakes that are lying on the counter, row upon row of them- there must be at least fifty. "And seein' as you're the artist, I thought you might wanna help me out."

Steve arches his eyebrows in a "I do not do this, this is not what I do" kind of way, but he's already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and pulling on an apron, his satchel hanging up on the back of the kitchen door. "I'm an artist, not a baker." He says, looking up at Bucky when he's ready. "But sure."

"Halloween themed." Bucky says, hands on his hips. Steve notes that there's a bit of flour smudged across his cheekbone, and he smiles quietly, just to himself. "So I was thinking skeletons, pumpkins and ghosts."

Steve nods. "Sounds about right. Let's get started."

They chat while they work. Steve tells Bucky how his mom used to bake all the time and how she would make the best rocky road in the whole of Brooklyn and "god she could have opened a bakery, Buck, you've never tasted anything like her peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies".

They chat until Steve's refilling his piping bag with orange icing, and he ties it a tiny bit too tight. Frosting squirts out of the end, hitting Bucky in the side of the head, a little bit getting in his ear. He blinks, and Steve is holding back laughter as he looks up, eyes narrow. He has to slap a scrawny hand over his mouth to hide back the giggles as Bucky looks at him, glaring, even though there's no heat behind it and he's grinning too, the edges of his lips curved up.

"You lookin' to start a food fight, Rogers?" He asks, and he's twisting the end of his own piping bag full of black icing, aiming right at Steve's face.

"It was an accident, I-" Steve doesn't finish the sentence, black icing hitting his glasses and spattering across his face, covering his nose. "Oh _now_ you're in for it!"

The food fight that ensues paints the kitchen orange, black and white. They're both covered in icing- Steve takes a handful of icing sugar and throws it at his face, and Bucky smudges orange icing down his cheek. They're both laughing, howling in fact, and it's only when Steve breaks into a coughing fit that only his inhaler can counter do they stop.

Bucky's panting too as they lean against opposite counter, legs tangled together. Steve gives him a breathless grin, and he's sure he's imagining how Bucky's looking at his lips.

"Let's get cleaned up." Bucky says, and his eyes don't flick up to meet Steve's, they were looking at his eyes the entire time- right?

They wipe themselves over until most of the icing's gone, and then they wipe down the cupboards and the draws and the benches, putting the cupcakes in the fridge where they can keep for tomorrow. Steve turns to take off his apron, and smacks straight into his Bucky's chest, his eyes level with his adam's apple. He takes a step back, his back hitting the counter hard enough to bruise, and he grimaces softly at the pain.

Bucky licks his thumb, his gaze soft as he looks at Steve, and once again Steve can't breathe. His breath catches in his throat, hitches, and his fingers twitch for his inhaler as Bucky reaches out and cups his cheek with his palm. Steve tries so hard not to lean into the contact, not to press back against Bucky's hand, because even though he's frozen in that spot, the drawer handle digging into his crooked spine and his lungs aching with the need to breathe, he could so easily push into the affection. Bucky's so close that Steve can feel his warmth surrounding him, his scent, something sweet and bright but masculine, totally Bucky, and he reaches down with his wet thumb to rub a spot of icing from Steve's upper lip.

Steve thinks about taking that thumb into his mouth and sucking, but he can't do much more than stare at Bucky through wide blue eyes as the other looks at him, dark blue eye now grey as he rubs at Steve's lip.

"You missed a spot." Bucky murmurs, and all Steve can do is nod dumbly, eyes never flickering away from Bucky's face.

They're so close, and Bucky's cheeks are flushed from their fight before and his gaze is so soft and so warm, and Steve could do it, just lean up on tip-toes and kiss him hard, wrap scrawny arms around his neck and refuse to let go.

But then common sense hits him and he's out of the moment. "It's late." He murmurs. "I should go."

Bucky looks honest to god disappointed, but he nods. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah, you're right. I'll walk you home?"

Steve gives him a smile. Bucky treats him like a dame sometimes, walks him home or holds his bag for him, but Steve's not complaining because Bucky's cute when he's worrying silently about him.

"Sure." He says. "Why not?"

And even though things are back to normal on the walk home, teasing each other, batting at each other, laughing together, it's kind of hard to forget that moment. Bucky's head dipped, their foreheads almost touching, his strong, broad hand as it cupped Steve's fragile bones and held him there for just a second. Steve can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking about that hand, both his hands, across the length of his body, hips and ribs and thighs, and Bucky's lips on his rather than his thumb, following the trail his fingertips leave.

Steve has a cold shower that night. Sam looks at him as if he _knows_ , but Steve goes right on to bed and doesn't say a word.

~*~

"Beta sig are having a Halloween party," Falsworth says as they pack up their things at the lecture. "Dum Dum told me to invite you, told me to tell you to invite whoever you wanted to come along too."

Steve likes Dum Dum. He met Dum Dum about two weeks ago, when Falsworth introduced him to the rest of the gang, and he knows for a fact that he loves all of them. They're not all part of Beta Sig, but he knows a few of them are going to rush next semester. Steve might join them, but he's not sure about that yet.

Bucky had done that thing again when he'd seen Steve hanging around with Falsworth, bumping shoulders with Jim Morita and handing his phone over to Dum Dum so he could put his number in it, because as Dum Dum said, "little guy like you might just need a big guy like me to come to the rescue". He had looked like he wanted to commit murder until Steve had introduced him to all of them, and then they'd all got on like a house on fire.

Steve's starting to think that "woah wait who's this and why are the looking at Steve like that should I kill them" thing is something akin to jealousy, but then maybe he's just imagining that. He's probably imagining it.

And yet, Sam notices it.

"I wish you would just make a move man," He says, lying on his bed, a few nights after the food fight business. "He wants you, you want him- go for it."

Steve tells him it's just not that easy, but maybe it is.

Anyway; he smiles at Falsworth, and he nods. "Thanks." He says. "We'll be there."

He tells Sam, but Sam's already invited. So he tells Bucky, and Bucky grins.

"You're not asking me to be your date, are you?" He says, and Steve knows he's only joking, but he can't quite seem to stop imagining the nervous waver to Bucky's voice.

"I'm not asking you to be my date." Steve assures him, and he's not sure Bucky's entirely happy about that, but he doesn't take it back. "You're really not my type."

Which is a blatant lie, but whatever.

In all honesty, Steve's excited. He's never been invited to a party before- he's never actually been invited _anywhere_ before, other than formal school events. It's been that way since the end of middle school, so he's maybe just a tiny bit over excited about the whole thing. He knows there's going to be costumes, dancing and drinking, and though he's never been drunk before (he's been tipsy a few times, like after graduation and a few times during Fresher's week) he's looking forward to that part too.

"So what're you going as?" Bucky asks over his Survey of Western History text book.

"Jack Skellington." Steve answers. "I may not be tall enough, but I'm definitely skinny enough, and that counts for something, right?"

Bucky chuckles. "I was kind of hoping I'd be able to convince you to go as a pumpkin. Little hat, orange face, big squishy belly. Imagine how cute you'd be."

Steve flushes bright scarlet. "That sounds awful. Jerk. What're you going as, anyway?"

"Punk." Bucky answers, before he says anything else. "The Joker."

Steve snort. "How original." He says, sticking a post-it note into his text book with a few notes scribbled on as he turns the page.

"You can't talk, _Jack_." Bucky says, and when Steve looks up to met his gaze over their text books, they laugh. No hard feelings and all that. They bicker so often that people who don't know them wonder why they're friends at all.

On the night of the party, Steve makes sure he's got all of his work done before he actually thinks of getting ready, let alone start it. Sam's over at Natasha's place despite the thing about girls and boys not being on the same floor, or whatever, and Steve's noticed that he's been spending a lot of time over there. Whilst Steve has been getting closer to Bucky, Sam has been getting closer to Nat, and Steve likes that. They're a good couple. And it keeps him from worrying that she might have been lying about Bucky not being her type and snap him up whilst he's still single.

Steve goes to the party with Falsworth and the gang. Falsworth, Gabe and Jim have decided to go as Blue Man Group, apparently, with Dernier dressing up as a typical French mime and Dum Dum dressing up as a fairy, complete with pink leotard, wand and wings. And a crown, too. Nice touch.

Steve can't breathe for laughing, has to use his inhaler, which makes everyone else laugh too.

When they get to the party the room is already pulsing. The baseline shudders through the entire house, and there's a lot of bare skin showing considering the fact that it's late October, but then a beer is thrust into Steve's hand and he totally stops caring.

He hangs around with them for a while, but there's other people too. He spots Sam, who's dressed up in the worst superman costume Steve has ever seen, and Natasha, dressed up as catwoman, red hair curled and a mask brought down over her eyes. He talks to them for a while but then they drift away. He's given another drink, and he finds himself talking to Peggy Carter, a girl in his art class, and her cousin Sharon Carter, a girl who's in his Math, apparently. And once again they drift away, and Steve is given a few more beers (he actually loses count), and he finds his way back to Falsworth and Dum Dum, who are leaning against the wall resting, it seems.

Every so often Steve's eyes will flick to the door, waiting. He's not sure how long he's been at the party - an hour, maybe? - but he misses Bucky. He tells Gabe that, and Gabe responds with "that's because you love him" and makes kissy faces at him whilst the others join in. Steve blushes and tries to argue, but it doesn't matter, because that's when Bucky strides through the door.

And Steve knows they're totally freaking right.

Bucky looks somehow taller, which Steve doesn't understand because he's pretty damn tall anyways, and he looks far leaner in his costume, but he looks so good that Steve melts a little. The purple skinny jeans and shirt, coupled with that green waistcoat and tie are a ridiculously good look. Far better than Steve, or any of the others. Bucky wins the costume competition hands down. He spots Steve across the crowded room and he grins; his face is painted white, a large red smile cutting across it, and yet he still manages to look good. Steve wishes he could hate him for it.

When Bucky comes over, Steve means to tell him that he looks good. Well, he's going to tell him that the costume's good, tease him, tell him that he suits it and maybe he should quit being Bucky and be a batman villain instead, or something, and yet what actually comes out of his mouth is "woah".

So maybe he's a little bit more than tipsy.

"Woah yourself," Bucky says, and he slings an arm around Steve's shoulders. "You look good, Stevie. Considering you're wearing the most mainstream of mainstream Halloween costumes."

" _You_ look good." Steve retorts, and Bucky grins bemusedly, eyebrows raising as Steve adds, "Skinny jeans."

"How much have you had to drink?" He asks, but then he laughs because there's no way to tell and as if Steve can remember _that_. It's probably not that many, actually, which is kind of an embarrassment. He sees Jim hold up three fingers, and listens to Bucky snigger. Has it really only been three? It feels like thirty. Jim's a liar.

Steve keeps on drinking, though, and Bucky doesn't take his arm from around his shoulders for the whole night. It's kind of a win.

"We should dance!" Steve yells, but his voice is lost to the beat of the music that shakes the whole room. "'ll be fun." He adds, as if that's going to draw Bucky in.

He thinks he sees Dum Dum smirking, but he doesn't pay too much attention to that. Dum Dum finds everything funny. And Steve is too busy directing big drunken puppy dog eyes at Bucky, who suspiciously, two hours into the party, has only had one drink. Steve doesn't pay too much attention to that either. Doesn't matter, as long as Bucky's willing to go along with his shit still sober.

"I don't think that's a good-" Bucky never finishes the sentence because Steve downs the rest of what he thinks might be a vodka and coke (was he meant to hold that for someone or did he get it for himself?) and tugs him into the centre of the room, through the sea of swaying bodies.

Steve's not very rhythmic, but it makes Bucky laugh, hands on Steve's hips to help him along and Steve's arms around his neck. Steve never was a very good dancer. He never really got the hang of it.

"There you go," Bucky grins. " _Now_ you're getting the hang of it."

And he is, actually. He's doing well with Bucky as his teacher, swaying his hips and stepping and laughing, because he can't seem to stop laughing-

Until he gets that odd feeling in his mouth, and an ache in his throat, and his stomach drops. He's going to throw up.

"I'm going to throw up."

Bucky's grin fades but he doesn't stop moving, raises his eyebrows. "What?"

Steve pushes away from him, because he doesn't want to ruin this. Bucky has been by his side the entire night, has kept an arm around him at all times, and has taught him how to dance, with broad hands on frail hips. Steve's thinking that maybe, just maybe, Bucky wants him. And with so much beer in his system, kissing Bucky shouldn't be too much trouble. Dutch courage and all that.

But so much beer in his system is a bad idea. A very bad idea. Because now it's coming back to haunt him, and it's coming back to haunt the rest of the guests too.

"Oh god." Bucky says, because he knows. He knows exactly what's wrong. He hooks an arm around Steve's waist and drags him as quickly as he can to the private bathroom in the Beta Sig building, locking the door behind them.

Steve makes it to the toilet _just_ in time to throw up everything he just drank. Which isn't actually that much. They've been here three hours, it's almost midnight, and Steve's already thrown up. He sighs. He always knew he would be pathetic when it comes to drinking. He weighs ninety pounds dripping wet, it's hardly a surprise.

"We should get you home." Bucky murmurs, stroking Steve's back in large, soothing circles. "You're not okay. You need to go."

"But the party-" Steve begins to argue. He wants to stay for the rest of the party. He just learned to dance. And he hasn't kissed Bucky yet either. He needs to kiss him.

He needs a breath mint.

And he needs to vomit some more.

The journey home is a blur, but Steve knows that Bucky talked to Sam and then to Falsworth and the guys and then he's taking Steve back to his dorm, pulling the key out of his back pocket, which of course makes Steve blush, but in his drunken state makes him giggle as well, and then he tugs him inside.

Bucky washes the makeup from Steve's face, and helps him out his jacket, his shoes, his trousers and his tie, leaving him in his shirt and underwear.

"Thought this would be so much sexier." He mumbles into the pillow, and he hears Bucky laugh.

There's some fumbling around the room, cupboard doors opening and closing, and then Bucky disappears altogether for a second. Steve would sit up but the room has begun to spin and he's not sure he can do it.

Bucky sets a glass of water next to his desk, tucks his phone under his pillow and he smiles. "Text me in the morning when you're coherent and not dead, 'kay?"

"Kay." Steve mumbles.

Bucky's very close to him. His face can only be inches away, Steve measures, even in his drunken state. He swallows thickly and he blushes just from the closeness, but maybe Bucky won't notice.

"Thanks, Buck." He says. His voice is thick and he slurs, words blurring into one every so often or sounds being drawn out, or muffled. "I- I really like you. You know that, right?"

Bucky nods. "I know, Steve."

He seems to dither for a moment, his eyes scanning Steve's face, and though he looks like he might be about to lean in and kiss him or something, he doesn't. Steve waits anyway, in vain hope. But all Bucky does is give him a sweet smile and pat his shoulder.

"See ya in the morning, Stevie."

"See ya." Steve huffs, turning onto his side, close to the wall, listening to Bucky as he closes the door behind him and heads off down the corridor.

~*~

Steve wakes in the morning to the door opening. Well, he assumes it's the door opening. It sounds like someone's got a drum right next to his ear and just hit it. Hard.

"Sam?" He croaks.

He feels like shit. Like he's died and been brought very violently back to life. His throat feels like sandpaper and his tongue feels fuzzy, his mouth tastes vile and he can't see straight. He sits up, and flops straight back down again. He wishes he could crawl into a hole and live there.

There's a dip at the end of his bed, someone sitting down or something, but he doesn't open his eyes. He's not sure he won't vomit again if he does.

"Nah, Bucky." Bucky says. "Sorry to disappoint."

Steve groans softly, shifts in bed and tries to sit up again. When he manages it, however, he flops forward, his forehead meeting Bucky's shoulder. He can smell coffee now that he's up and not lying in his own filth, the smell of freshly brewed beans mingling with Bucky's familiar scent. He inhales deeply.

"You look about as dead as I thought you would." Bucky chuckles, and Steve can't even argue, or pull out some sassy retort, because he really does feel dead. He groans softly into Bucky's shoulder, who only chuckles again. "I brought you coffee. Black. I don't think milk's a bad idea with an upset stomach."

Steve doesn't drink it with milk anyway, usually, but he's glad that Bucky's thinking of his well-being. He takes the coffee because he has to re-hydrate himself, stop his entire mouth from feeling like the Sahara desert, and maybe some caffeine will do him good.

"Thanks, Buck." He murmurs, sipping the coffee despite the fact that it's lightly too hot and burning away all of his taste buds. It's good coffee. It must be from the cafe.

"So, do you remember anything from last night?" Bucky asks. Steve props himself up against the wall. "You seemed pretty out of it."

Steve hasn't actually thought about it. But now that he tries to think about it, he can't actually remember _anything_.

"I remember Jim Morita in a blue bald cap. And I remember dancing, a little bit." Things are coming back to him slowly but surely. _I really like you_. Steve flushes, but he doesn't look at Bucky. He knows he's looking at him, can feel that dark blue gaze boring a hole in the side of his head, and he sighs. "I remember vomiting in the bathroom. Thanks for holding back my hair."

"What are friends for, huh?" Bucky's voice wavers, and Steve looks over at him. He's looking at his hands. Steve can't help but wonder if maybe he _should_ mention the other thing. He doesn't know how to go about approaching that subject, and he doesn't know how it would affect them both, their friendship, but maybe...

"I gotta get going." Bucky says, and he looks up at Steve, and smiles. "Meeting Natasha in ten minutes. Will you be alright? You can call if you need anything."

"I'll be fine, Buck." Steve says, and even though he feels like road kill, no doubt looks like road kill too, he nods. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Bucky reaches out, takes hold of his hand, and squeezes gently. "I'll see ya later, Steve."

"See ya." Steve mumbles, leaning against the wall and sipping his coffee, watching as Bucky goes.

~*~

Winter break comes around surprisingly fast. Steve and Bucky study for finals together, spend hours holed up in Bucky's room sitting in nothing but companionable silence, broken only by the turning of pages and the sounds of pen against paper. They're both on scholarship, so if they want to stay they have to work so damn hard.

Steve tries not to think about the fact that he has nowhere to go for thanksgiving, or the pain in his stomach that accompanies that.

"So, uh- you got plans for winter break?" Steve asks casually (or he _tries_ to ask casually, he actually sounds somewhat strangled) on the way out of their History final.

Bucky gives a small sad smile, and shakes his head. "No. I'm staying here- halls are supposed to be empty over the holidays, but I've got nowhere else to go."

Steve nods. "Same here." He says. Steve and Bucky are now good enough friends for them to unlock each other's tragic back story, Steve thinks, and yet it's not really something they talk about. All he knows is that they always talk about their parents in the past tense and neither one has had a call from a loved one as far as Steve can tell. It should make him sad, being alone over thanksgiving and Christmas, but now he knows that he's not alone, actually. He has Bucky.

"So you're staying?" Bucky eyes. His dark eyes are wide and hopeful and he gives a small smile. Steve nods. He hasn't talked it over with anyone from college, but he knows of a few other kids who are staying. Dernier's a foreign exchange student, and despite Gabe inviting him to his, he's staying. There's a kid from Steve's physics class, and another from his maths. There's only one residence hall open, as far as Steve knows, and he knows that if he wants to stay he's going to have to see someone about it soon.

And yet, he nods. "Yeah." He says. "I'm staying."

It's not exactly a lie. He doesn't have anywhere else to go. And he's kind of looking forward to it now, now that he knows Bucky will be staying with him. He'll get him a gift with what little money he has (like seriously, he needs to get himself a job) and camp on the floor of Bucky's room and it'll be perfect. Kind of like the little Christmases Steve would have with his mom, just the two of them, sat at the same side of a pokey round table in the kitchen passing way too much food between themselves. Although Steve has a feeling the food will be more take out ordered the night before than home cooked turkey and vegetables.

Everyone trickles out slowly but surely, until it's only them and a few exchange students left. Steve doesn't mind. There's only about four or five of them, including himself and Bucky. It's quiet. It's eerie, but it's nice. He camps on Bucky's floor, lying on a handful of duvets and wrapped up in a few more.

It's three nights in when he begins to shiver. He shivers so violently that it wakes him up, actually, and his chattering teeth must wake Bucky up because he looks at Steve through the dark with a sleepy expression and a frown.

"Stevie-" He says, his voice thick with sleep, a little gruff. He sounds confused. Steve loves it. Maybe he'll wake him up in the middle of the night more often. "You okay?"

But right now, he doesn't want Bucky to be awake. He doesn't want his concern. He wants Bucky to go back to sleep. Steve nods, and tries to hide his shaking hands. "I'm fine."

Bucky sits up, and switches the lamp on. Steve's quivering voice has given the game away, and Bucky squints through the sudden bright light at Steve, watching as he shudders. He pauses, and then he scoots along the bed, pats the space he's just made.

"Hop in." He says.

Steve flushes at the mere thought of sharing a bed with Bucky Barnes, and shakes his head. "I'm okay, Buck. Really, I am."

"Like hell you are." Bucky says gruffly. He reaches across his bed to the floor to tug at Steve, yanking his arm hard enough to get his attention but not hard enough for it to hurt. He never pulls and pushes Steve around hard enough for it to hurt. "C'mon, you little punk. I don't want you dying of pneumonia on my bedroom floor."

"I'm not gonna die of pneumonia, jerk." Steve bats at him with a shaking hand, but Bucky's fast. He grabs Steve hand and tugs, pulling Steve upright. At the sudden change in temperature, now even colder without his duvet, he begins to shiver more violently. So in the end, he goes willingly, even though he knows that in being so close to Bucky, he's not going to be able to get any sleep at all.

He settles into bed next to him, facing him, and Bucky gives him a smile. He makes sure that Steve has the majority of the duvet, and then he smirks at him. "Survival 101 says we should take off all our clothes, makes sharing body heat easier, but we'll skip that this time, huh?"

Steve just nods. He rests his head against the pillow and tries not to inhale deeply, like he really wants to. He's absolutely surrounded by Bucky like this, not just his scent and his warmth, which Steve experiences so often but never actually gets used to, but _everything_. It's so much to take in. He shivers softly, and Bucky drapes an arm over his waist. Steve immediately goes pink at the contact, eyes wide.

"Get some sleep, Stevie." Bucky murmurs. "Try not to die while you're at it."

But his voice is so full of concern that Steve has to think about that, just for a little while, before he falls asleep.

~*~

They share the bed a lot after that.

Even with the little crappy heater that Bucky has trying desperately to heat the room, it's absolutely freezing, so cold some nights that Steve can see a white puff of air as he breathes out. There's a thick layer of snow on the ground, right up to Steve's skinny ankles if he can get his foot on the ground properly, and it just keeps coming. It keeps falling, and Steve doesn't think he minds; he's always loved a white Christmas. His mom would take him out to the back of their apartment building, to the tiny back yard there, and they'd make snow angels until Steve got cold and he had to come inside for hot chocolate.

Bucky has a lot of shifts at the cafe, because Nat's gone home for the holidays, as has Bruce, and so they're desperately trying to make up for the missing staff, even if it's only for a couple of weeks. Steve doesn't mind. The cafe's usually quiet due to the lack of students. Some that live in the surrounding area still come in, but it tends to be slow, the Christmas cookies going generally unsold and the coffee going cold as the door remains firmly shut against the snow.

But Steve likes it. He can sit behind the counter with Bucky, sketching as Bucky reads a book for his Socoiology class. He sketches the tables and the chairs, the stairs leading up to the gallery, sneakily sketching Bucky's forearm and hand as he grips his book.

"That's time." Bucky says, looking up as the clock strikes twelve. The cafe closes early on Wednesdays because there's never anyone to cover the shift; Bucky and Nat and the other members of staff still in college always have classes on a Wednesday afternoon. And even though it's winter break and someone could probably cover it, they're not changing the opening times just for a couple of weeks. "Let's go."

Steve packs his stuff into his satchel and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He's started wearing a beanie to cover the tops of his ears, keep them warm against the cold, and Bucky got him a dark, navy blue scarf a few days back to keep the cold off his neck. He doesn't have a pair of gloves, though, so his slender fingers always end up red and aching by the time he gets home.

Bucky notices as they're walking back to their room. He frowns, and reaches down to catch one of Steve's hands in his own, lacing their fingers together.

"Bucky, what-" Steve begins, already flushing bright pink, but he doesn't get a chance to finish.

"I don't want you to lose a finger, Stevie. Would kinda ruin that dream of being an actual real artist, right?" Bucky arches an eyebrow at him, and actually, Steve can't argue.

He does huff however, his hand caught in Bucky's. Halfway home, Bucky releases his hand, and Steve pouts to himself at the loss of contact. Even if he is still bright pink from the first time Bucky took his hand, he doesn't want him to let go. But then Bucky shifts, falls a step behind and moves to Steve's other side, taking hold of his other hand and grinning at him, even if Steve thinks he looks somewhat sheepish.

He can't help but wonder if this means something, Bucky taking his hand. It's been nearly two months till Steve sort-of kind-of admitted his feelings to Bucky, and Bucky never said anything like that in return. Maybe this is just what friends do, Steve thinks. Honestly, it's not like he'd know. He's only hand friends for a few months now. But when November had set in and the air had gotten colder, Sam had never taken his hand. Neither had Falsworth. Dum Dum had suggested blowing on his fingers, Gabe had suggested shaking them, but neither one had actually taken hold of his hand and lead him home.

So maybe it _does_ mean something.

But Steve tries to stop thinking about that and distract himself, because it's only making him blush harder. He looks forward at the snowy ground, and his eyes land on a patch of pure white snow covering the quad, where seemingly no one has walked yet. Those were the patches of snow he'd look for when he and his mother went out to play, large white sheets of snow that had never been touched by fingers or shoes, where he could effectively leave his mark. So when they reach it, Steve stops. He lets go of Bucky's hand, and he flops onto the snow. It's soft, cushions his landing, but it's absolutely freezing. _No shit, Sherlock_ , he thinks. He waits a moment before he starts moving his arms and legs, splaying them out and back in again, making his first snow angel of the year.

He pauses when he's done, lying on the snowy ground. It's soaking through his clothes, making his skin feel clammy, but the longer he lies there the more he can feel Bucky's dark blue gaze on him, watching him. He stands up carefully, not wanting to ruin the shape.

"Are you done?" Bucky asks. He looks concerned; Steve knows exactly why: because he's little and he's frail and Bucky thinks he's going to catch pneumonia at the drop of a hat (or beanie).

So in response, Steve stoops, picks up a handful of snow, and pats it into a ball. Bucky's eyebrows raise in realisation of what he's doing just as the snowball hits him square in the face.

There's a moment of silence, which is only broken by Steve sniggering, wiping wet hands on his coat. The snow slides down Bucky's face and catches in his scarf, melts there, some of it falling back to the ground. His grin is slow and gradual, but it spreads over his entire face, reaches his eyes, which light up brightly. He looks gorgeous, Steve notes; flushed from the cold, bright eyed, and a little disheveled now. Some of the snow had gotten into his hair, melting and turning the combed-back locks curly. "Now you're in for it, you little punk."

The snowball is big but it doesn't hit Steve with much force, smacks off his shoulder, and Steve's answering grin is wide and bright as he sets up making himself a few snowballs to use as ammo.

The fight goes on until Bucky surrenders, and Steve knows he only does that because he's shivering again, his slender hands bright red from the snow. They feel hot, like acid, the weird heat you feel when your fingers get too cold, and Bucky takes them in his own hands, rubs gently.

"I give in, Stevie." He says. "You win. Now let's go home- I'll make you hot chocolate. 'm good at that."

And Bucky's not lying- he _is_ good at making hot chocolate. They sit in the lounge by one of the radiators, treating it like an open fire as they sip their drinks, marshmallow foam staining their upper lips. Steve ignores the desire to lick it away from Bucky's skin, and focuses instead on Bucky's smile as he tells him about Christmas in Brooklyn.

~*~

Christmas comes and goes. There's no more snow fall (Steve hears from a lady in the grocery store that snow in December was a miracle anyway, because it usually only snows in January, so maybe they won't see anymore until then) which is fine by him because it's still cold enough to mean that the snow doesn't melt. He hates it when the snow melts. That grey-black slush that forms and soaks through your shoes always makes his stomach turn.

On Christmas, he opens a box from Bucky containing watercolours, a set of paintbrushes, and a pair of fingerless gloves. Steve loves them immediately. He doesn't paint but he can for Bucky, because the set is pretty damn beautiful, and the gloves- well Steve gets the odd feeling that them being fingerless means that Bucky still has to hold his hand to keep the appendages from falling off.

For Bucky he had bought a bottle of whisky (and he won't tell how he got it; Steve's a law abiding citizen but this is _Bucky_ ) and a kid's chemistry set, because he knows Bucky said he loved experiments in high school, and he went for the "cheesy joke card". Bucky loves it, like Steve suspects he will.

They reheat the Chinese they ordered the night before, and lie on Bucky's bed watching Christmas movies. Steve hasn't slept on the floor since that first night he started shivering, so he supposes it's his bed now too.

And the thought of him sharing a bed with Bucky Barnes makes him blush and feel giddy and want to do somersaults all at the same time.

They lie down afterwards, facing the ceiling, their arms brushing. Bucky's wearing the orange paper crown he won when they'd pulled a cracker over Chow Mein. The joke about the newspaper (What's black and white and red all over? A newspaper!) made him cringe, but they got a little toy frog out of it for tiddlywinks. It sits on Bucky's desk now, looking at them.

"This was good." Bucky says, and he closes his eyes. Steve looks over at him and notes that he's smiling softly, the edges of his lips just curled up.

Steve wants to run his fingers over them, but he doesn't.

"Mm." He hums in return, sighing contently and closing his eyes too. There's a beat, a pause in which there is nothing but silence, and then before Steve can stop himself he says, "I thought this was gonna be awful. First Christmas without my Ma. But it- It's been fun."

He had missed her like hell when he had woken that morning, but then Bucky had tugged him down to the lounge, both of them still in their pajamas, made them both hot chocolate and toast and gave Steve his present. He had served as a good distraction whether he had meant to or not. And whilst Steve had been thinking of his Ma, missing her, it hadn't ruined the day like he'd been expecting.

"I'm glad." Bucky murmurs. "'m glad you had a good day, Stevie."

His hand, which is lying next to Steve's, shifts so that it can take a gentle hold of his. He laces their fingers together, and Steve blushes profusely, but when he looks over he sees that Bucky is blushing too.

Steve thinks that the hand holding the other day _definitely_ meant something, but he's far too tired and too full now to do anything about it.

He falls asleep. He thinks he wakes up at some point during the next, his head resting on Bucky's chest and a firm pressure on his scalp, warm and unwavering, like lips pressed to the top of his head, but then he falls back to sleep before he can question it.

~*~

New Years comes around quickly after that. Bucky has a fake ID, which Steve hasn't known about until now, but finds he's not surprised to learn about, and so he gets in some cheap champagne and some beer. They sit on the floor in their room watching Bucky's tiny television, a tangle of limbs and the bottle of champagne lying between them.

They watch the ball drop, the anticipation leading up to it.

"I've never seen it in real life." Steve murmurs, sipping a beer carefully. He wants to at least be coherent for the ball dropping. "Only ever watched it on tv. But we watched it every year, me and my mom."

"Same here." Bucky murmurs in return, and he opens another beer, far less careful than Steve. But then, he's also twice the size of Steve, so it's hardly surprising that he can afford to be a little less careful when it comes to drink. "Next year." He says. "Next year I'll take you to see it."

Steve smiles brightly, about to tell Bucky just how much he'd like that when the countdown starts.

They don't chant along with it. They're quiet. Around the eight second mark Steve remembers the tradition of kissing someone on New Year's at the stroke of midnight. _Not_ kissing someone is supposed to mean a year of loneliness, a year of solitude, and yet every year Steve's mother would peck his cheek brightly and he'd still have no friends. She must have done something right this year because now he has more friends than he ever has before.

And he really doesn't want to lose those friends. Sam, Falsworth and the gang, Natasha, Peggy, and Bucky, good sweet Bucky, who's looking at the television and not at Steve as the countdown ticks on.

3, 2, 1-

Steve lurches across the space between them and kisses him, curls his fingers in the collar of Bucky's plaid shirt and kisses him hard, three months worth of unrequited affection and sexual tension pouring out of him and into the kiss. Bucky is still beneath his lips, and Steve only notes that after a few seconds. He feels kind of sick, actually, as he realises that Bucky hasn't returned the kiss at all, hasn't moved. Possibly hasn't breathed, even. Steve releases him, skinny fingers letting go as he plops back down beside him. Bucky's eyes are wide and dark, alarmed, and his lips part in what Steve supposes is surprise.

And then what Steve just did sinks in.

"Oh my god-" He begins, and he slaps a hand over his mouth. Bucky stares on. "Oh my god, Buck, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean- I just- It's tradition, y'know, and I- I'm sorry-"

"What're you sorry for?" Bucky asks quietly. It's the most quiet Steve has ever heard him, and he's honestly not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

"For- for kissing you." Steve murmurs. "I know you didn't want me to. You're just my friend, I get that, I'm sorry, I-"

"Stop talking." Bucky interrupts. He crosses the space between them, loops his arms around Steve and pulls him in, kisses him hard. Steve doesn't waste time on pausing, wrapping his arms around Bucky's neck instead and clinging to him, lips parting beneath his. Bucky tastes sweet, a little like beer and a little like chocolate, and there's something else there that Steve just can't relate to anything else, something distinctly _Bucky_.

"I didn't think-" Bucky's talking but Steve can't hear, too busy trying to kiss him again. "I didn't think you wanted this. Wanted me-"

"Of course I want you, Buck." Steve murmurs. Only now does he pull back, because he can't catch his breath. He pants, and Bucky shuffles, leaning over and away from Steve, who whines softly. He produces an inhaler though, and Steve takes it, takes a few deep breaths. "I've wanted you since... since we met, actually." Steve finishes.

Bucky laughs, and it's loud and bright, making Steve laugh too. It's infectious. "Unbelievable." He grins. Steve doesn't know what's so funny but he's more than willing to join in. "I've wanted you since I saw you in the cafe that first day, Steve. That very first day." He leans forward and kisses Steve again but this time it's soft and brief, less rushed than before. "We're both idiots."

"Can't argue there." Steve murmurs, and he grins against Bucky's lips before joining them once more.

The rest of winter break is spent making snow angels, drinking Bucky's hot chocolate and doing stupid experiments with his chemistry set, Steve learning to turn his sketches into paintings with the water colours Bucky bought him. And when Sam and the rest of them return from their respective holidays, they wish they could say thy're surprised when they catch Bucky pulling Steve to his feet from another snowball fight and kissing the cold right out of him.

**Author's Note:**

> I am thinking of doing an a/b/o thing too for these two, so idk. Look out for that. If anyone wants my tumblr I'm over here: http://captainspxngles.tumblr.com


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